


Quiver

by noun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Gentle Sex, Knotting, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noun/pseuds/noun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has a huge dick. Sex requires a lot of stretching and tender foreplay beforehand. </p><p>Prompt from the DA Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiver

**Author's Note:**

> fill from the kink meme! (http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12606.html?thread=49551934)
> 
> "As much as I love dominant Solas, I'd love to see a fic where he's much more gentle, and there's no sense of underlying domination.
> 
> Solas and Lavellan have been going to bed together on a regular basis, and Solas typically likes to take it slow, likes gentle sex and sensual foreplay. He doesn't rush things - and he can't. His dick is huge so Lavellan is thankful for Solas' patience and self control and loves to feel him stretch her out. Slowly.
> 
> Bonus points for sweet dirty talk/praise kink ("you take it so well") and coming inside."

“Ma emma lath, ma sa’lath.” His fingers dragged along the delicate ripples of her ribcage, dragging down and raising goosebumps in their wake. Her arms laid out before her, back bowed with her arse in the air and her knees spread, her cunt sweet and open, shining in the moonlight.  
  
Lavellan took a shaky breath, and he kissed the dimple where her spine ended, listening as her breath caught and she shivered. Solas didn’t move for a moment, the only indication that he was still there the hot puffs of air against her skin.  
  
He finally slid away from her and down further to the foot of the bed, glad for the luxury of the size of it. Rolling onto his back, he pushed himself under her, one knee folded to allow for the scant space. Lavellan braced herself on her elbows and pushed up, looking upside-down and under her, to a smiling Solas who moved his hands, fingers so long and elegant to grip her hips.  
  
“Vhenan, please sit back and let me taste you.” His voice was so soft, and she found the strength to push herself up those last few inches and sit on her heels. At first, Lavellan tried to raise herself so that she wouldn’t be sitting on Solas’ face, cunt pressed against his mouth and nose, because surely he did not mean to do that and give himself no room to breathe.  
  
Her knees were weak, though, and her thighs trembled with the effort. Solas said nothing, did nothing, just watched as she quivered until her knees slid to opposite sides and she fell forward, cunt smushed against his lips and nose. The muscles in her legs were just too weak, too over-used. He had indulged her today, fed her by hand and started the dance that meant he would allow her to take him to bed and _have_ him, a rare treat. Theirs was a not a romance to be consummated on a whim, in a tent or at home. Solas’ special gift saw to that. No, if they wanted to make love, they needed time, and plenty of the spicy-sweet elfroot salve available on the bedside table.  
  
He had already coaxed two orgasms out of her. The first, by magic when she was still clothed, to relax her for the second. Lavellan was still recovering from that, from his fingers deep inside her cunt, three from his right and three from his left, pressed against one another as he rocked them into her, working her open. Surely after this many times ( _four_ , only four times) her body would have grown to know his, would not need this much work to know it should open for him. He had told her that such a thing would require them to have the time for lovemaking every day, and they had no chance for that.  
  
(But he had caught her hand, and pulled her close, and he had whispered his secret, that perhaps when this was over, he could fill her, get her heavy with his child and _then_ they would have the time to fuck every day, when there was peace.)  
  
He worked his tongue against her folds, opening her so her sweetness could leak onto his lips and mouth. He wrapped his arms under her legs and around her thighs, holding her to his face as he lapped, a man starved, his nose butting against her clit while he worked. Lavellan fell forward, fingers spread wide and palms against the sheets. She bleated like a halla as he thrust his tongue in and out, her cunt twitching weakly, trying to clench around the intrusion but unable to. Too loose for that, of course, but too tight for him until he got her sopping wet without the salve.  
  
He wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t risk her suffering even the tiniest bit of hurt. His _modification_ , a trick of magic to match his title, a childish mistake, explained away to her as an old elven trait that had somehow shown up in his family line and then him, made preparation all the more necessary.  
  
She couldn’t help it, sitting on his face, her weight barely on her split legs and nearly all on Solas. He did not seem to mind, rocking her back and forth with his arms until she understood and started to grind down on his face, extra stimulation from her clit to bring her to her peak.  
  
He made little muffled noises, groans of pleasure and delight. Lavellan could feel how wet she was, how wet Solas’ face was, and that made her whimper all the more sweetly. He moaned in response, licking her slick away and sucking greedily so he could swallow a mouthful of her taste, though he lost some to smears on his chin and face. Her thrusts went from rolling motions to stuttering rubs of her clit against his nose until she finally broke with a cry. Liquid gushed from inside her and Lavellan was afraid for a moment that she had wet herself, fear souring the end of her orgasm, but Solas seemed as happy as ever, drinking her down.  
  
Her thighs were too shaky for her to pull away, and she had to catch her breath rather than flee. Solas’ hands guided her as she rolled to the side, falling onto her back on the huge shem bed, gazing up at the canopy, too embarrassed to speak.  
  
His face shining, Solas crawled back into view on his forearms, draping himself over her with his chin resting on her clavicle. He grinned, lips curled, hazy-eyed and as satisfied as he looked whenever he got her to come.  
  
“Beautiful,” he pronounced, while she looked away. He braced himself on an elbow and clucked his disappointment, a finger under her chin to redirect her gaze. Oh, he liked many strange things, games in bed that she suspected were born of his great experience, things he had seen only in the Fade, but was this one of them.  
  
“Vhenan, you have done nothing wrong. Worry not.” He soothed her, gaze softening from the intense look he gave Lavellan too often during lovemaking. He was _hahren_ again, most of his sensuality gone in favor of comforting her. “Are you embarrassed?”  
  
She shook her head in a tight motion, eyes warily snapping back to him rather than the Orlesian drapery on the canopy. “I have not—it was not unclean?”  
  
“No, it was not. Only an indication of great pleasure.” At Lavellan’s scoff, the worry slipped from his expression as he sat over her, straddling her once more. He had softened slightly while he was comforting her, but he began to rise to the occasion once more as he twisted to take the jar off the table. He was large no matter what, but mostly just absurd when hard.  
  
The men of the Inquisitor’s inner circle had been the first to find out, bathing in shifts as they did, Solas’ cock the subject of wistful glances from Dorian and utter confusion from Bull and Blackwall. The teasing he gave them- mostly to the tune of ‘but _all_ elvhen males are like this’- had caused Bull to attempt to outdo Solas in everything- tests of strength, speed- tests which Solas was too blasé about the whole matter to partake in. Bull had been miserable about it for days until they returned to Skyhold and the tavern.  
  
It was not the length of it, not entirely. Solas was the size of a normal human man when soft. There was a reason his tunic dropped so in front of his crotch. The sight of his prick outlined against his trousers always made her mouth dry when he disrobed, and it was a distraction he clearly did not want to bring attention to. Hard, he gained an inch or two, became thicker, her admittedly dainty fingers not quite able to touch around his girth, much less the peculiar slight lump near the base. And his cockhead, how his foreskin would not retract entirely without help, stretched over the head. Lavellan had a particular fascination with his heavy sack, how large it was, how it felt when Solas thrusted and it bounced against her. She liked to touch it, to hold each side in her hands, to suck one into her mouth as she stroked him with her hand and watch him gaze down at her, amused by her fascination but more than willing to indulge her.  
  
Perhaps it was because he seemed to come _so much_. He poured into her when he finished, and his—knot—meant that it stayed inside for a long while. There was always a primal frustration the morning after when he would hand her the contraceptive brew, one he made for her himself, an odd look in his eye. She had never said anything, but Lavellan had always supposed there was a mutual feeling of frustration and disappointment as she drank. He would always stay until she finished, and he would kiss her forehead when he took the mug. Someday, there would be no need.  
  
The smell of the elfroot salve broke her thoughts, and she watched, still breathing hard, as he scooped some out with two fingers, placing the jar itself on her belly. Solas knelt between her legs, spread wide to accommodate him, and gently slid his two slickened fingers inside and started to work the salve into her cunt. She had hated the shine oils left on her skin, even the perfumed ones that Dorian had—very subtly—given her, but the elfroot made this mixture more pulpy, like the aloe vera that she would apply to the sunburns they got when traveling west. It was also easier to wash out of her sheets.  
  
Solas took great care in applying it, not only internally but on her lips as well, fingers rubbing it in with care. He was bare, as all elves were, free of hair, but the various frictions over the extended period of time that comprised them, together, tended to take a toll. His attentiveness for this was less sexual, more the attention of a healer, clinical, for which she supposed she was grateful. If Solas hurt her, she knew he would never forgive himself. Lavellan closed her eyes for just a moment, her breathing slowing as Solas continued to work.  
  
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit, still perking up attentively out of its hood, setting the jar back down on the bedside table. His hand was still slick enough that he could fist himself quickly and coat his prick, wiping the excess off on a corner far away from the two of them.  
  
“Ready, ma vhenan?” He moved again to lay over her, one arm braced to hold himself up, and the other holding his cock to better guide himself in. Lavellan nodded, then stretched slightly, just so she could peck him on the lips before flopping back down onto the bed, sleepy and relaxed. Even in her state of great need, even with her wetness and her body made limp by orgasms and contentment, Solas always worried that he had not done enough, had not prepared her thoroughly.  
  
His cockhead slid in and Lavellan mewled, back already arching. Solas suspected the rarity of the occasion and the anticipation that built from that was a great part of the appeal. He continued to push, to withhold kisses until he was sure she was ready, until the start of his knot hit her cunt and he could pull back and start a gentle pace. The stretch and slide had no grit to it, no friction, and while she was so, so _tight_ he did not feel like he was forcing himself inside. He was too large to hit the sweet spot inside her unless his thrusts took him nearly out of her, and he didn’t play with her clit until he had knotted, but she moaned and whimpered as if he was a lover more suited to her, not even bothering to touch herself. That her pleasure came mostly from him, from his presence, from the knowledge of the act—it was arousing. He knew it to be true. He was the lord of deceptions, and there was no lie in her pleasure.  
  
His thrusts were shallow by a matter of necessity. He had to control himself constantly, monitor himself while Lavellan writhed beneath him.  
  
“So-las—” He kissed her face, under her eyes, the slow roll of his hips punctuated by his affections. She tilted her head so he would be better able to kiss her lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth, open in a wail as she tried to return the gesture. The bed rocked, the construction too sturdy to move much, but there was a pace there.  
  
He wanted to see himself sliding into her, the obscene stretch of her lips as her body yielded to allow him inside, but to look down would require him to take his eyes off her face, off the pulse at her neck. Her lips were already bitten red, no blood drawn yet. He would hardly allow it to remain on her skin for too long. The wolf was far too greedy not to take everything she offered him.  
  
“You are so very _good_.” Her leg, shaky, lifted to wrap around his waist, but the muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He stopped, helped her, and made sure her ankles locked around one another, sturdy enough to hold. Lavellan wanted more, and he was too weak not to oblige.  
  
“Do you want deeper?” The noise she made in reply was part frustration and affirmation, clearly angered by his stopping. The next thrust did make the bed shake, fine Orlesian carpentry be damned. His knot, too small yet to hold, did pop as it slid out, and then again the next time. This new pace was faster, no more gentle rocks of his hips. Lavellan clearly preferred it, her arms folding around his neck, resting at his scalp. He missed having hair then, regretted not being able to feel her lace her fingers through his hair and pull. The arch of her neck as she threw her head back was irresistible, and he bent down to bite into her flesh, suckling to leave a dark mark, too high for her collared robes to hide entirely.  
  
The bed groaned in time now, headboard not quite too far from the wall to thunk with each thrust. Solas grinned, licked the blood from her bitten lips rather than kiss her, and took up a dark murmur.  
  
“You are so good-” _thunk._ “Can you see how well-” _thunk._ “-your pretty quim spreads-” _thunk._ “-to take me, vhenan?” _thunk._  
  
Lavellan had moved beyond words, pupils blown and breaths shaky.  
  
“Will you let me come inside you? Will you let me spill my seed in your cunt? Watch you swell with my children?” He heard a _please_ at that, and again bit into her neck, a quick staccato of thrusts as he groaned. “Your pretty little body heavy with milk and elflings? _My_ elflings. You, too heavy to-” His knot caught that time, and it took effort to pull free and keep moving, keep pressing forward. He was not ready to come yet, to give this up. “-to do anything but be fucked and pampered? I will care for you, love you for all your days, vhenan, ma sa’lath.”  
  
He caught on the next thrust and tugged again, trying to slide free and she whimpered, more pain than pleasure. Solas descended to kiss her again, murmuring things that were more noise than words, trying to soothe, apologetic. Lavellan was better able to kiss now as he slipped one of his hands between them to circle her clit, rub out an orgasm so her body would ripple around him and draw out his finish.  
  
It didn’t take much to have her shuddering through her finish against him, and her quim clenched around him, around his knot, trying to milk an orgasm from him. It worked, and Solas tilted his head back and _howled_ , cum spilling from him in waves. There was nowhere for it to go, trapped as it was by his knot, but into her. Some managed to leak out, but that was not to be worried over. Fen’harel had done well enough that his seed would find root inside his mate and bear him a litter of young. He growled, tucking his head between her shoulder and neck, listening to her little noises and—caught himself.  
  
The old memories slipped through more readily when he indulged in instincts. There would be no elflings, and he would need to make sure she drank the tea in the morning to ensure that. A fantasy was a fantasy, and this was the life they were in. This was no place for elflings, and he was no male to be a father to anyone.  
  
Lavellan said something, breathy and sweet, and smiled when he raised his head to look into her eyes. Her fingers brushed over the points of his ears, hazy in post-orgasm bliss. This was real, this was what he needed to focus on.  
  
“Solas,” she said again, voice hoarse. “I love you.” He smiled back, the heat in his eyes replaced by that odd sadness. “And I you, vhenan.”  
  
The tie would keep them together for nearly an hour yet, the occasional groan from Solas indicating that his body still had some to give, but this time was soft, a time for Solas to stroke her hair and talk softly, of things that were of little importance, of things that did not relate to the Inquisition.  
  
When he finally was able to slip free, he moved slowly, helping hold her hips up so that his cum wouldn’t spill into the sheets. With a hand pressed to her cunt, he led her to the tub, warmed by his own magic, and guided her in, all the better to soak and scrub the sweat off together. Their time spent together was bliss, a quiet patch between daily horrors. Lavellan was buoyed by the hope that this would eventually be their life together for every day—and Solas, less so.


End file.
